Santa's Last Sack
by flamewarflipsides
Summary: Seismic disruptions from the Battle of Chicago caused untold damage at the North Poll, and Santa can't make his deliveries. Charlotte Mearing approaches the Autobots to do it, and Optimus agrees on one condition: that she help him. Can Optimus and Mearing save Christmas? Why does Mearing care, anyway? Secret Santa present for PhoenixPhlox at Cybertronians on deviantART.


He pushed the folder across the table gingerly. An immature—humans would say childish—part of him wanted to push it harder, but even the gentlest of frustrated gestures from him might tear the fragile human paperwork. The folder was smaller than Optimus' fingertip, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the woman across from him still needed it for something.

"I am flattered by the faith you show in our abilities," he said, taking a brief pause to let the comment sink in, "But even we Autobots are incapable of the feat you have requested. No one of us can traverse the entire planet in one night… and even if we could, how would we gain entry to all of these homes and deploy the packages given our sizes and the accompanying problems therewith?"

"I was hoping maybe one of your scientists had some luck with the space bridges," Mearing droned, glaring over her reading glasses.

"Why, because yours have had no such luck?" Now he indulged in the petulant tone he wanted.

"They're having better luck than you think," she offered with a sneer, "but it's not good enough to even try testing on anything more complex than an action figure. If you think I would let them try putting you through one, you're crazy."

He took note of that strange hint of protectiveness in her voice and shrugged. "I was not aware that monitoring human superstitions was in the purview of the NSA," he teased, changing the subject.

"Oh, someone who can sneak into any facility and leave things behind isn't a matter of national security?" She grinned. "There's a reason NORAD watches him, and it isn't because of a misprint on a poster."

He fought the urge to smile. "What would you have us do?"

"We don't expect one 'bot to step in for Santa for the whole world. We just think each of you could do it for one region. We're coordinating with all the local governments to make arrangements for more remote areas, we have a few independent groups of Decepticon defectors we're negotiating with, and the Clauses provided us with a plan that assumes a number of bots participating that's slightly smaller than the team you have." Her grin widened. "They said it's your fault anyway. I don't know, I'd blame the Decepticons, but they're already on the naughty list." She grimaced before changing the subject. "We'll pair everyone with a human to do the actual transactions, and you'll get the publicity of being tracked by NORAD."

"I will do it on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"I will need a human teammate to gain entry to the homes. I would like to choose that teammate."

"Fine. Who?"

"You."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why the hell would you want me?"

He fought not to laugh. "You understand the plan better than anyone. If I am to direct the Autobots from afar, I need the best information at my disposal."

The real reason would come in the night. It always did.

It seemed as if no time at all passed between that moment and Christmas Eve. Optimus would have said that the preparations had kept him busy, but the truth was that there wasn't much else to remember. There weren't many people to talk to. He and his Autobots had discussed Chicago as much as it required. Speaking with the media and diplomats was more acting than anything. Sam was busy with his new job, new fiancée, and had grown into a surprising patience and compassion between his moments of high energy and ranting. Lennox always listened in that gentle, non-confrontational way he had, but in some ways Lennox's manner had become too much like Optimus' own to do much more than make Optimus feel welcome.

The Christmas preparations were too busy for thought, though he relished such excitement and pressure without war. Optimus had no time to think as he worked his way through northern China, Southern Russia, and parts of Europe. He made up the time they lost to unforeseen difficulties flying over the Atlantic, and the silence crashed down on him as he flew, removing the throttle on his darker thoughts.

He found her waiting when he landed, and even from a distance he could see her easily. Her red clothing stood out against the snow, a stark contrast with both her usual attire and the imagery Sam had showed him of Santa.

Optimus Prime had grown accustomed to seeing Mearing in black and white, the only hints of color being in her diverse collection of handbags. Now he found her clothed head to toe in red, with white trim that matched the snow. He saw suggestions of the shape and design of the traditional Santa outfit in her clothes, but as everything else she wore, the suit fit close instead of the lumpy appearance the man in the movies always took. Still, the clothes seemed different from the female Santa uniform he had seen, as well: she had covered her skin entirely, neck to toe. She had even shielded her eyes behind her reading glasses, which surprised him, as he had all the paperwork.

"You're looking festive," she sneered up at him.

"It seemed appropriate to change my colors for this endeavor. All the images I have seen of Santa's Sleigh have been red and green."

"Probably a good idea. It's not like we have to blend in, though. Everyone knows it isn't really Santa."

"However, most of the world's children believe that Santa is repairing the North Pole, not that tremors caused by Cybertron's gravitational pull injured him." Optimus looked down. "If we do not make every appearance of having planned this, they may suspect the truth more than they already do. Besides," he added, trying to put some levity back into his serious voice, "You do not follow your own advice."

"There's a lot less involved in me changing clothes than your paint job," she growled. "Besides, I want to show the world that a woman can dress up as Santa Claus without looking trashy."

"If that mode of dress is vulgar, why do some engage in it?"

"To get attention. Because they think they have to." She shrugged. "Guess it lands them on the naughty list."

"I suppose we will have to discuss it during the calmer portions of our journey. Let us begin."

Optimus reached down, offering a hand to the woman, and she climbed up into it. He helped her into the small cockpit that had been mounted on his shoulders and activated his flight tech, taking to the air.

"How does this work? I keep forgetting you've been doing this all day," she shouted as they took off.

"You have a folder there that contains the naughty and nice lists, plus package numbers, street addresses, geographic coordinates, and key landmarks. You will navigate for us, then, at each stop, you will carry each set of packages into the home. Many families have left their doors unlocked or left keys in standard places to facilitate your entry, given that we do not possess the technology that Santa uses."

He couldn't see her, focused on flying, but he could imagine her opening up the list, browsing through it. "How did it go overseas?"

"It did not go well. We had a great deal of difficulty gaining access to homes. Fortunately, the locals were understanding. One young woman in Hungary ran ahead for us and knocked on doors throughout her neighborhood to get us back on schedule." Optimus smiled at the memory, at the smile on the face of the black-haired girl who had really saved Christmas.

"People step up when there's a need," Mearing shouted back. "Look at you. We throw you off our planet; you save Christmas."

"Earth is our home now. Even if it were not the right thing to do, we need all the good publicity that we can get." Then he added, "The same is true of you. Though monitoring Santa may be a matter of national security, supporting his mission is not."

"Yes it is." She chuckled, a short huff. "Can you imagine what happens to our economy if Santa doesn't purchase all the trademarked toys for these kids? Maybe in the old days, when he made them, it would have been different."

He suspected the government had other secrets pertaining to Santa, but then he felt a pang of guilt for assuming dishonesty from Mearing after what had happened earlier that year. Still, the United States did not pay her to tell the truth. He tried to find his patience.

She seemed not to notice the strangeness of his sudden silence, because she kept talking. "OK, first stop is that island right off the coast, Griffin Rock. I don't see many families on the nice list there. We're hitting the Burns family first. " Then she clucked. "Oh look, the town's mayor's on the naughty list. What a surprise."

He flinched. "Leadership tends to corrupt," Optimus replied.

"I guess. If it ever gets to you, I bet Witwicky'll shove a lump of coal up your exhaust."

He smiled as they landed, wiping it away before she could climb down to see. As he turned off his flight gear and knelt to help his passenger down, he heard a soft clicking at the door: someone unlocking it.

Mearing hoisted herself down, grabbed the bag, and ran. She came out moments later, and Optimus lifted her back up into her place. Then they took to the air.

It took them three times as long to distribute gifts to Griffin Rock as the plan allowed for; they spent a good five minutes trying to deactivate the security system around the Greene residence before a young girl in a pink nightgown let them in. By the time they made for the mainland, Optimus could almost feel Mearing steaming.

"This was a terrible idea. We'll never make it in time!"

"Even if we do not succeed entirely, the world is still better for what we do accomplish," he reassured her.

"This whole thing has shattered kids' faith in Santa badly enough. We're going to make it worse."

"Risking a failure worse than inaction is a risk that you have taken before," he scolded her.

"Yeah? Well, look at how that worked out." She grumbled. He wished he could see her face, or at least her actions, but he had to focus on fighting the wind. "I'm trying to learn from my mistakes."

"As am I. I have learned that sometimes risks must be taken. Sometimes faith must be given where it does not seem deserved; the perceptions that we have can be deceiving."

"What do you mean?"

"I should have given you my faith in Washington. Because I did not, we have buried many. Likewise, perhaps you should have had faith in us… but your freedom is preserved because you did not." He took a moment, letting it sink in. "Director Mearing… I asked you on this mission because I have faith in your abilities, and because I regret dismissing your concerns before. I know no human better equipped to anticipate setbacks in this mission than you."

"Thanks. That's reassuring." She didn't sound impressed. He regretted speaking. "Speaking of problems? Weather's calling for strong winds down in New York. That'll slow us down. We've already used up most of our buffer."

"Then we shall have to plan more effectively. I defer to your judgment."

So he did. He felt more Rudolph than Santa as they worked their way down the coast, through Ohio, up into Michigan. Mearing barked orders and ran until her face grew as red as jolly old Santa, though Optimus supposed it might be windburn. She did what he had not considered before they had even crossed out of Maine: She slashed the coal deliveries on the naughty list. "We're rewarding people for doing good," she declared, "Not dwelling on jerks."

Not five minutes later, they made a delivery to the Simmons residence. She complained well into the next time zone about that.

They finished over an hour behind schedule. The last present left their hands as the sun rose: a large grandfather clock, tied up in a green bow, for a couple on the outskirts of Portland with a house so lit up it reminded Optimus of Cybertron. Optimus finally reverted to his vehicle form, and Mearing climbed into his driver's seat. Optimus could almost see her wilting. All of his human teammates had grown exhausted over the long day, sometimes panting by the end of their shift, but only one had stayed with him as long as she had.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just exhausted. Aren't you?"

"I have not taxed my systems to this degree in quite some time, no," he added, exaggerating his discomfort put her at ease. Still, his fuel reserves were low, he had begun to overheat despite the cold, and he felt something loose inside his trailer.

"I wasn't sure where we'd end up. Just drop me at a hotel somewhere…"

"Of course. I will also arrange your transport back to Washington."

"Thanks for doing this." She put her hand on his door. "You saved Christmas."

"I am the instrument by which you saved Christmas," he corrected. "Though… I have not gotten what I wanted." He wished he had his face to smile.

"Oh? What did you want?" She sounded guarded.

Part of him wanted to say something cruel like "Cybertron," but he resisted the urge.

Instead, he said, "To know why you, personally, were so invested in this mission. While I do not know you to do anything without dedication, given your involvement in the incidents preceding Chicago… Christmas seems to mean a great deal to you. I am curious as to why."

She huffed and looked out the window, silent. He thought he would receive no answer, but as he pulled into the nicest hotel he could find, she spoke.

"I stopped believing in first grade. My parents bought me things to make up for it, but I could tell. The handwriting on the tag changed that year, and it never changed again." She frowned. "You have to believe. Knowing for a fact doesn't count."

He said nothing, unsure of what he could say.

"Kids need something to believe in. It's the worst thing to run out of faith, and watch everyone around you have it. We're responsible for Chicago, you and I. I'm not ready to be the reason any more people lost their faith."

As he rolled into a parking spot, he tried to gather his words. When he finally found them, she had just pulled his door latch.

"We are not to blame for Chicago. We are each one of many who bear some responsibility, but one of your statesmen once said that evil only triumphs when the good do nothing." He paused. "I strive each day to make up for the destruction that my mistakes and misjudgments have caused, but I take comfort that no ill has come because I turned away."

She stopped, nodding.

"Others will demand we take responsibility for things outside our control, outcomes of our actions we could not predict. Perhaps they are right, but responsibility and guilt are not the same."

"Merry Christmas, Optimus. Thanks for your help."

She opened his door and walked off, disappearing into the hotel doors. He transformed briefly, looking into his trailer to see what had come loose.

He found a sack, one of Santa's, with something inside.

Panic washed over Optimus as he looked for and found the binder that contained the lists. He grabbed the bag, found the code on its tag, and looked it up. He found it on the last page, stuck to the page before it. With great difficulty he used his giant fingers to separate them. At first relief washed over him, then something else replaced it.

The title read "NEST and Autobots," and on the page Optimus saw the name of every member of NEST who had no children, along with several, but certainly not all of, the Autobots. The print on the page seemed larger than the rest of the packet, in a swirling script… but scrawled at the bottom, smaller, in shaking, looping cursive handwriting, Optimus found two more names . They stood out next to the others. He smiled.

_Optimus Prime Nice 3572  
Charlotte Mearing Nice 3573_

He opened the bag. He found his present first, but discarded it quickly; seeing his name on the list was present enough. Sam and Carly's names appeared on many packages; Bumblebee's numerous boxes stacked easily, the same size and shape. By the time he'd gone through the list, he had piled presents to his ankle in a parking spot outside a hotel room, and the bag lay empty, no 3573 in sight.

He picked the bag up in his shaking hands. Optimus decided he would use the onboard computer of his alternate mode to call Sam's fiancée for help. Just as he went to dial, he realized his fingers did not meet through the burlap, that something held them apart.

On a whim, he took the bag by the bottom, and turned it upside down, giving it a small shake. Something red shot out of the bag, hitting the pavement with a papery clatter. He reached down and picked it up. The green tissue paper went flying, and he could see something peeking from the small red gift bag he'd found. Clear on the tag he saw a small code: 3573.

Then he heard a window open, and Mearing's voice. "Why are you still here?"

"Merry Christmas," he answered, holding out the bag to her.

She took it through the window, and he saw her eyes begin to shine in the morning sunlight as she reached around to the tag and pulled it down where she could see it.

She smiled. He wished someone else were there to see it; he could think of many who would have liked to see her happy more. But as she stammered and pulled the handbag out, muttering, "That isn't why I did this," Optimus felt grateful that he of all people saw her open her gift. He picked up the keys, labeled with his name, that he had discarded while looking for her present. They weren't why he had done it, either.


End file.
